


Transference

by SatiricalDraperies



Series: Empire of the Blue Lotus [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cultural Differences, Cunnilingus, Dark Padmé Amidala, Dirty Talk, Empress Padmé Amidala, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Foreplay, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Smut, Tenderness, Throne Sex, Zabraks (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24799780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatiricalDraperies/pseuds/SatiricalDraperies
Summary: People kneeling before her, singing her praises or begging her forgiveness or both, sometimes, if she’s really lucky—it’s the intoxication of power.Herpower.Still, she needs a change of pace every once in a while. Her crown is not heavy and her body is not tired, but there are places she’d rather be, things she’d rather be doing… people she’d rather be alone with.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Darth Maul
Series: Empire of the Blue Lotus [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799698
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	Transference

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about Zabrak biology—any differences are my own and added purely for the smut! I just thought this would be a fun possibility to explore especially within the context of this AU

She’s been on the throne for far too long today, listening to aired grievances and the petty squabbles of a post-war world. They’ve been coming from all over the galaxy to pledge allegiance to the new Empress and ask for her favor. 

Padmé loves it.

It’s not quite the thrill of a good debate (how she misses the days when people would dare speak against her!) but it’s close. People kneeling before her, singing her praises or begging her forgiveness or both, sometimes, if she’s really lucky—it’s the intoxication of power. _Her_ power.

Still, she needs a change of pace every once in a while. Her crown is not heavy and her body is not tired, but there are places she’d rather be, things she’d rather be doing… people she’d rather be alone with. 

As if reading her thoughts, the guards bring in a Zabrak next. His skin is pale yellow with hardly any tattoos, at least on what Padmé can see of his body. She wishes she could see more. He has a strong face and she can only assume that the rest of him is as handsomely sculpted. Now, if only his robes hung a little more open, she might enjoy this a whole lot more.

“My Empress,” he says, kneeling at the base of her throne. She could reach out and stroke his face if she wanted. 

She doesn’t. Not yet, at least. She did not become Empress by enjoying herself, although the ability to do so now is a definite perk of the position.

“Speak.”

“I am here on behalf of the people of Iridonia. We offer ourselves to serve and protect you, in times of peace and times of war.”

Now, though. She reaches out, running the back of her hand against one of his horns. His eyes shoot up to meet hers, but he doesn’t say anything, just lets her hand press into his horn. 

“We are glad to have you,” she says, holding his stare. She drags her fingertips along the length of his horn one last time, then lets go. 

“As a sign of goodwill,” he continues, his eyes downturned again. “I have been sent here to stay and serve you personally, in whatever manner my Empress desires.”

“She does not desire you.” Padmé had nearly forgotten about Maul, but now he slinks out from the shadows to stand behind her right shoulder, hand gripping the back of her throne. “Leave.”

The Zabrak looks to Padmé, but her face is impassive beneath the white makeup. 

“Leave,” Maul repeats, baring his teeth and growling. 

The poor fellow doesn’t stand a chance. He scrambles to his feet and just barely remembers to bow to Padmé before running out of the throne room. 

“A shame,” she says, keeping her voice light. “I rather liked him.”

“Padmé.” It’s a warning and a promise.

“Leave us,” she tells the guards. “And tell the people there will be no more audiences today.”

Her guards exit, leaving her alone with Maul. 

He waits until the door falls closed to move to kneel before her, his hands holding onto the armrests of her throne barely an inch away from her own. She lets him hold himself there as long as he needs. They are so close that when he finally does speak, the fabric of his tunic rustles against her skirts.

“Are you familiar with the physiological traits of a Zabrak’s horns?”

“No,” she says. It’s best to be honest with Maul. 

“They are… sensitive to certain things.”

Padmé waits for him to elaborate. Although she knows him quite well at this point and usually has a good idea of his mood, she thinks that sometimes he forgets that she has no Force-enhanced awareness of his thoughts and emotions. She takes it as a compliment even when it does lead to misunderstandings like this.

To his credit, Maul does not show any signs that he is disappointed with her lack of knowledge or inability to guess his meaning. 

“They induced fear, originally. Or so the scholars say. The horns show that we are predators but more importantly, they _convey_ it.”

Padmé thinks she may know where this is going.

“Just as our prey were filled with dread upon the sight of our horns, they would be overwhelmed with ecstasy when they were speared upon them. A channel through the Force. For an instant, the prey becomes the predator.”

“And the predator, the prey,” she muses. “A transference of emotion.”

“Exactly,” Maul says. At first Padmé thinks he is speaking lower than usual in approval of her analysis, but then she realizes it is anger and jealousy running through his voice.

“I am sorry,” she says. She means it, too. As Empress she is never sorry, but as Padmé, she is willing to make exceptions. “I did not know the effect of my actions. We can have his horns filed off completely, if you like.”

Maul lets out a snort at that. “You think that is a fitting punishment, my lady?”

“I’m open to other ideas,” she smirks. Good. Maul has forgiven her for her honest mistake. Now: the question of how to make it up to him. Padmé thinks she knows just the thing.

“Perhaps I will forgo his punishment in place of rewarding you.”

“Whatever pleases my Empress,” Maul says, raising his head to look her in the eye. Padmé doesn’t need the Force to know what he wants but she pretends to mull it over for a bit. 

She lifts her hands from the armrests of her throne, one hovering over Maul’s horns and the other poised at the slit of her skirts, ready to pull them apart whenever Maul gives the word.

“What pleases me does not matter if it does not please you as well, my love,” she says. “I have learned what is most important today and he is right here with me. Would you like this?”

“Yes,” Maul whispers, leaning into her palm. Her fingers wrap around one of his horns and—

_Oh._

So _that’s_ what he meant by a channel through the Force. Earlier she felt nothing but the respect (fear) she expected (deserved) from the other Zabrak but he was only an ordinary being. Now, with her Maul, her strong, beautiful Maul, she can feel so much more. She can feel _everything_.

“Is this what the Force feels like to you?” she asks, heady with emotion. If so, she doesn’t know how Maul can stand the immense sensation.

“No,” he says, sounding equally overwhelmed from her feelings flowing through him. “It’s what _you_ feel like.”

And that’s what pushes her over the edge and leaves her gasping for breath. Her fingers fumble to open her skirts and Maul leans in to press a kiss against the newly exposed skin. She presses his head in closer, guiding his mouth towards where she really wants him.

Sometimes they play at this, Maul purposefully leaving little bites and kisses everywhere but her clit until Padmé has no choice but to use her Empress voice to order him to get her off this instant, please and thank you, only an Empress does not need to ask please and by the time she’s ready to thank him, her mouth is usually too busy moaning and calling out his name. 

Today there is no game. Today there is only Maul and his mouth against her, his pointed teeth pulling the most incredible sensations out of each and every nerve in her, his tongue just as eloquent in this as anything else. 

She holds him tighter, her other hand coming up to grasp another one of his horns. Padmé didn’t think they could get any closer but as she pulls him in and his tongue hits just the right spot, she feels any boundary between them dissolve completely. The universe is all right here, caught up in her and Maul and the places where they blur together into one entity within the Force and it shatters her into a million shards of glass.

Padmé falls apart a thousand times and Maul is there to put her back together, always. 

She leans her head down to rest her forehead against his. Maul is breathing as heavily as she is. Padmé runs her fingers over his face, his cheeks, his lips. She brings his head up to kiss him, loving the taste of herself on his mouth. He smiles: a rare occurrence. 

“You know,” Maul says. “Next time you can just ask. There’s no need to bring some other poor fellow into this.”

Padmé laughs. “And ruin all of my fun? Never.”

Maul stands up and offers her a hand. She takes it and he pulls her tightly against his chest. The constant pulse of his twin heartbeats anchors her to this moment in time. Whatever force (or Force) that may have turned their paths towards each other, Padmé is grateful. They have both made their mistakes and they will have to live with that, but at least they have each other.

Padmé closes her eyes, turning all of her focus towards Maul. Soon she will have to return to her role as the Empress and face down the dignitaries and representatives, but not yet. Now her universe is small and fragile and held in this shared breath between her and Maul and it is all she has ever wanted to have _this_ universe, right here, right now.


End file.
